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1-5-2025
As a kid I wouldn’t of thought that this is how it was,
For every feeling of giving up,
For every kick of the drum;
My heart would call my bluff.
As as a kid all I wanted was a feeling I could grow up,
Living how I want,
I wonder if that’s really enough for a slumdog to overcome.
Thought I’d waste away my lungs while I’m still young,
Could quit whenever I want,
But cigarettes still tan my skin and poison coats my tongue.
Pale face not getting favoured by the choice of lighting another puff,
Make up feelings to cover up for my blush,
Giving up feels like a pit plucked me in straight for a plunge.
They say it takes several days for you body to fully adjust,
Side effects faded too and from,
Vanilla glaze flavouring from the atomiser sent me back into the rush.
My minds too hazy from all the tobacco and the blunts,
My rhymes are getting lazy,
My speech deteriorated since I forgot my native tongue.
As a kid I dreamed of the nights after large payments,
All grown up,
Now I know how it feels sleeping right against the hard pavements.
Scribble all my thoughts,
Every now and then I form a couple rhymes that I feel are worth saving.
It’s 3 A.M. and I’m only just drifting off,
Slumdog milling across thoughts of soft sheep crossing the pavements.
Copyright ©
R.P. Grcic
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